Listening

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Listen with your heart. It is quieter than your mind.

Listening to my youngest son talk to his oldest son lightens my heart. They have common interests in sports. I do not have a strong interest in professional sport. Those are merely noise off to the side of the snacks and other refreshment.

Many years ago I listened to my father when he told me, you should always listen to the other guy even if you think he is a jerk because he might have a good idea. Dad rarely expressed his judgment of others. He also understood within himself that listening does not happen while one is talking.

Mom had a phrase that I remember from childhood. She used to say, you have to pull up your own socks. I do not know where that came from but I took it to mean that one should seek help from others when necessary but it is up to oneself to get up and move on from any difficulty.

Today I am listening to my heart. I believe I need to listen to that part of me. How do I feel about all that has unfolded in my life. Political noise has had no effect on that. Life and living with Cheryl for three quarters of that time has. She has made me a better man. But so has listening to Mom and Dad and listening to my son’s conversation with his son. So has listening to my heart. In a lifetime of conversation, real conversation, and listening to others in my life, I have concluded that only I can pull up my own socks. And as I write this I think about the times I pulled up Cheryl’s no slip socks (her name for them) in the evening and put her pajamas on her to prepare for bed. She would not accept my help to do that in the morning when she got up.

Last week I retreated from the every day so that I could listen to my heart. I find that to be easier and more fulfilling if I distract myself after awhile with some occupation totally diverse to a previous concentration. This method has worked often for me through life. (The mantra is “sleep on it.”) A book of fiction or movie that has no moral to convey, a romantic comedy will do this for me. The distraction refreshes. I can look for help where I can find it but only I can pull up my socks.

I have been listening to the Grief Share videos purposefully for several weeks. I find myself talking and commenting to the various experts and listening to the people relating their grief story. There is a yin and yang to it all in my thoughts. I resist experts telling me what wine pairs well with what cheese. Occasionally, Dad will say be quiet and listen. (Maybe not often enough do you talk to me, Dad.) So, today I will listen with my heart.

I will remind myself that my concept of God is not the same as other’s concept of God. It is important to see past the literal when reading the Bible or the Quran or any religious text and just listen. Listen to your heart. Meditation an eastern concept helps with this. Prayer a western concept helps with this. Keep an open mind. Be still and just listen. Read Siddhartha. Be still. Listen.

Yes, Dad.

Carpe Diem.

Finding the Way

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We’re having trouble finding that site. Try again later.

Sad words indeed when this city boy is attempting to amuse himself while drinking coffee. The internet is a glorious ethereal place shrouded in mystery and fog. This is the message I got early in the morning as I was preparing to leave my seclusion in the woods and return home.

It was a rainy drive for the first hour or so. The road was shrouded in spray and misty fog. I found the defroster control and turned it on. Only a very slight improvement in visibility appeared so I moved to the far right lane of the three lane road and slowed down a bit. A big semi truck in front of me had the same idea and he turned on his flashers. I trailed behind him for a few miles in the misty rain. The truck loomed in and out of the gloom in front of me.

Undaunted by lack of visibility others sped by to the left in the lanes we had vacated. A pick up truck sped by behind another semi. It was close enough to read and record the trailer tag number. I wished him well and suddenly realized that I was uninterested in the tag number on the trailer looming in and out of the mist in front of me. A safe distance was more important. The trailer itself was a black tarped load and occasionally it disappeared completely much like the internet before I started the trip home.

Why is that guy tailgating the truck? He is apparently not in a hurry or he would go around the truck. He is also not in fear of losing his life.

This morning I clicked the retry symbol on the browser window. The weather website I was attempting to get to awakened and predicted a rainy drive for part of the way home.

Earlier this week I have been doing the same thing (retry) with my life. It is still loading. Part of the future seems more comfortable.

Retry and reflective solitude. Both of those worked, although the latter will be useful for a while longer.

Carpe Diem.

Hurry, Haste

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What is your hurry?

I ask myself that question several times per day. What is your hurry?

My encouragement to myself is “what is your hurry?” At this stage of my life the answer is I do not know. (IDK)

I do know that when I close my eyes in the sunny shade of these woods and empty my mind as best I can, and then I open my eyes again the evergreens are a brilliant color with a deeper blue. Why is that? IDK. I have hurried through life without looking.

Why did I pick this trail for today’s activity? A day ago I wrote that I am not a child anymore and I am not youthful but I still see a world of wonder with youthful eyes. I remember long ago when Cheryl and I came here we hiked this trail more quickly than I do today. I am not in a hurry. Maybe that memory brought me up the cliff face. IDK. Today I stopped often to rest but also to look, think, remember and read and listen while I read.

I selected several books to bring with me on this retreat and personal retrospective. I selected first “So long and Thanks for the Fish” by Douglas Adams. I have read a couple of the others from the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy trilogy. There are five books altogether and the theme is cynicism and simultaneous mediocrity as we splash through life. Wonko the Sane explained why he became a hermit – “The sign read: hold stick near the center of its length. Moisten pointed end in mouth. Insert in tooth space blunt end next to gum. Use gentle in-out motion. It seemed to me,  he said, that any society that had so far lost its head to put such a detailed set of instructions on a package of toothpicks, was no longer a civilization that I could live in and stay sane.” We have a lot of things like that going on. “Caution HOT!” is printed on the side of the McDonald’s coffee cup.  I always think, “I hope so.” Why are warning signs like this posted? I passed several today on railings erected along the trail. The other side of the rail was a sheer drop. “DANGER No Entrance ” is printed on the sign.  IDK. I did not hurry through the small volume. Several times walking today I found myself reading on a convenient log or outcrop of rock.


Why did I select this book to read first? IDK but it has been many years since I read the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and the absurdity of the story line is compelling. Maybe it is time to review my life and start anew. Maybe I long for the next great thing. IDK. There is no hurry.

There will be time to take time for wonder. There is no hurry.

Carpe Diem.

Time Alone

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Cumberland Thoughts

I came to be alone with my thoughts for awhile and hike in the woods.

Leaves falling in a light breeze in a forest sounds like rain if you listen. They mark the end of a season. They make no promises about the next season. The plants go dormant and wait in hope of spring.

When hiking on leaf covered trails pick up your feet to avoid tripping on invisible rocks and tree roots. (Sometimes wisdom emerges during a morning Autumn hike in the woods.) This learning experience dissipated a mere hundred yards down the trail. The lesson was repeated to emphasize its importance.

Another wisdom arose nearing the end of this trail, one I often forget; “You are not a child or even young anymore. Those steep grades covered with leaves are not for you.”

There are many memories in this park and they are all mixed up in my heart and head. You, Cheryl, got the kids and grand kids to appear for my 60th birthday and our 38th anniversary. We came here many times. Now you are gone and I am here without you.

I have to leave that thought. This is an experiment with a new experience. I am still feeling my way along. Am I here because this is the new beginning? That old adage – This is the first day of the rest of your life! – popped into my mind. What should I do with it?

I talk about being old but I am not really. I can walk without assistance. I should focus on what is possible. I have not hiked trail #6 up to the DuPont lodge since Luke was seven or so. Up up and away. I made it and not too winded. (I am not afraid to tune into my body and take a break when it tells me.)

These are things that ran through my thoughts today as I followed two woodland trails. The first down to Cumberland falls from the DuPont lodge in the park. The second back up the cliff to the lodge for a bite of lunch.

This park has a lot of history for Cheryl and me. We came here on our honeymoon trip. We spent a week in one of the old cabins not far from the lodge. In those days (1970) the housekeeping folks showed up everyday with fresh towels and two rolls of toilet paper in what looked like an old milk delivery truck. We took some home, I think. We were poor. Later I would wonder what they thought we were doing that we needed so much toilet paper for. It was late August but I could not imagine how that factored into it.

After the kids were grown and on their own we came back here for our 25th wedding anniversary. I had thought we might do a big deal trip for that but here seemed appropriate. Afterward we came here many times on the weekend near our anniversary. It is close and special. Those particular trips, about ten or fifteen years worth, are special memories. On some trips we when to other Kentucky parks but we continued to return to Cumberland Falls. The last time was before the pandemic pandemonium.

I was thinking about that yesterday. Cheryl needed a cane to lean on then. I asked her when the last time was that we were here as I walked up the front steps into the lodge and she flashed me a picture of her holding her cane and holding the handrail to go down the steps in front. (She was stubborn about ramps.) Often she sends images to me.

Carpe Diem and the images as they become memories.

(Cartoon from Reddit.)

Where are the Pasties?

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Fast Food lovers Unite!

Has anyone noticed or even thought about the sad state of fast food? The universe is full of burgers and fries. These are chips to the Brits out there. Why is that? Are fast foodies complacent? Why put up with that selection? Yes sometimes the burger is made from chicken and sometimes it is made with pork the other white meat and sometimes the burger is shaved or sliced instead of ground but it is still a burger. Where are the falafels? Where are the pitas? There are other fast foods folks. Where are the pasties? You thought I was stuck on middle eastern cuisine did you not? Pasties are a big deal with Cornish miners. Where are the shrimp tacos?

I am ranting. I struck out on a spontaneous couple of days away from any preconceived commitments to just be by myself today. In a conversation I had over several days decided to simply leave. I told my kids. I told a couple others that might wonder where I went. I told my niece who cleans for me every couple of weeks. I am gone this week – well most of it. I have digressed.

Traveling south on a main artery in the U. S. should bring one in contact with a vast selection of fast food choices. Nope. Just burgers and fries exist in the two hundred-ish miles I drove today. What a disappointment this was to me. I had planned to drive thru somewhere and snag something different. Fast foodies are complacent. Or asleep maybe.

Frisch’s, a local fast(ish) food chain is closing in an agonizingly slow fashion. An out-of-state crowd bought the restaurants and real estate and leased the real property back to the restaurant operators. Probably some percentage of the profits deal was put together. The pandemic pandemonium ensued and everyone operating on half a shoe string struggled to stay alive.

What doe that have to do with anything? What does that have to do with food choices on commercial goods arteries in the U. S.? Nothing except that I saw a billboard ad for Frisch’s as I was driving along and I thought I might stop there. That thought drifted into burgers which morphed into anything else but burgers which made me think about what comes with a burger/chicken/pork-patties, just fries. All are on a bun. Not rutabaga, not squash, not carrots, some places have sweet potato fries, and some places do have mushy onion paste rings but where is mustard greens? Where are rice cakes? Where are fried green tomatoes?

Why is it always a bun? What’s in that flour that buns are made of? I looked longingly for a burrito sign and was overwhelmed with burgers.

A pasty can contain anything but its usual form is beef stew in a pastry shell. This picture from the Daring Gourmet. I think I will try it when I get home. All I need now is skirt steak and a swede or two.

I long for carrots or rutabaga and now I am hungry.

Carpe Diem.

It is Easy to be Bitter

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That thought popped into my head as I looked through stories on this blog and thought about the past couple years with Cheryl.

I do not want to be bitter. What I want is to leave it all behind for a while.

Hind sight is twenty-twenty as wisdom has written but the view is also distant and wider. It can be more scenic. Much sweetness is visible with the bitter.

Looking forward has greater appeal.

Carpe Diem.

She’s Done it to Me

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She did it again this morning. At least that is what I thought when I found most of my ingredients out to remind myself what I intended to do today.

A couple years ago, when Cheryl was struggling physically more with Parkinson and her struggle with the dementia aspects of it was taking away her ability to follow simple directions, she coerced (maybe too strong of a word) me into helping her make cookies. I did not want to do it at the time.

Once or twice these were Snickerdoodles. And a couple other times we made chocolate chip cookies, the recipe is on the two pound bag of Nestle’s morsels. “You have to get the yellow bag!” she said to me once when I when I returned from the store by myself in the midst of the COVID pandemonium and price-shopped for supplies. “Those won’t work.” I was disheartened. I had purchased the store brand of chocolate chips. I argued my case for twenty-two milliseconds before realizing that there was no point in contesting the issue further. I returned to the store for the correct chips (“Morsels! It will say morsels on the bag. The bag is yellow.” She spoke to my back as I left.)

I can hear her voice. Little stories like this help me to recall her voice.

Yesterday, because I could avoid it no longer, I went to the grocery to restore my larder to its previous vigor. At the beginning my list had only two things, dried cranberries and raisins. Both of these I add to overnight oats which has become a new favorite breakfast treat. I have a pint Ball jar that is just the right size to contain a half cup of rolled oats, a cup of milk and whatever else I put in with those usually raisins or craisins some honey and chia seeds to set in the fridge overnight. I have also added at times cocoa powder, cinnamon, cardamon, vanilla or tahinni and used brown sugar instead of honey. This mixture goes well with my assembly of the coffee in the evening as well as drinking the coffee in the morning.

While putting all away I discovered that the bag of dried cranberries that I purchased would not fit into my quart jar I use to save dried fruit. Alas, some remained in the ziploc bag that only zips most of the time. I left them on the counter to become a healthy evening snack near the apples and bananas.

After preparing some lunch I hunted for some sweetness to satisfy my heritage and hit upon spreading the Nutella look-alike I purchased at Aldi sometime in the past on a saltine cracker and sprinkling cranberries on top. That tuned out pretty good. (If you are not a believer, try it.) I realized that I was inventing a variety of cookie – biscuit or digestive to the Brits out there – and heard Cheryl say, “You could try making a chocolate cookie with stuff in it.” I blame Cheryl when I hear these inventive thoughts about cooking. She was not very inventive with ingredients but very inventive with technique.

I launched myself into search for a basic chocolate cookie that I could modify with extra ingredients. Below is the final product:

  • 2 C. all purpose flour
  • 2/3 C. powdered cocoa
  • 1 tsp. baking soda
  • ¼ tsp. salt
  • 1 ½ C. white sugar
  • 1 C. unsalted butter
  • 2 large eggs
  • 2 tsp. vanilla extract
  • 1 C. chocolate morsels (in the yellow bag)
  • 1 C. dried cranberries
  • ½ C. smashed walnuts (crushed in the bag but I smash them further)

I creamed the butter, eggs, vanilla and sugar for a bit. Whisked the flour, salt, soda and cocoa together in a separate bowl dry and then dumped them into my mixer. (I bought a new mixer recently. It has extra paddles.) After a bit of mixing I tried out my folding paddle and dumped in the rest of the ingredients.

Bake in a 350F (177C) – medium oven 8 to 10 minutes. This lump of cookie dough makes about 4 dozen if you use a teaspoon from your table wear set to scoop and spoon some on to UN-greased cookie sheets like I did. (My mind always wants to grease the cookie sheet and Cheryl always tells me, “No!”)

After 8 minutes on the timer, I rotated the cookie sheets in the oven and added 4 minutes to the time. This worked for me because I dislike (maybe hate) chewy soft cookies. There is something special about just the right crunch that makes me smile.

Cheryl! You turned me into a cookie recipe experimenter. It is all your fault. (Dammit.) I love you and you are right. These are good. The tricky part will be spreading them out in my eating habits. I have eaten three while writing this story. They go well with coffee.

In future experiments I may try crushed peanuts and raisins. GORP cookies sounds good to me.

I wonder which wine pairs well. Pinot Noir? Chardonnay?

A conundrum. There was a big one there in the gap. It was begging to be eaten before I took this picture and I obliged.

Carpe Diem. (life is better with cookies and chocolate)

To Sit or Not to Sit

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To sit or not to sit that is the inaction.

That is the thought that jumped into my head as I pondered life’s choices and what we make of them when we make them.

The young man yesterday morning who in his zeal to get through the intersection on the Yellow traffic signal even though it was obvious that he had no chance of clearing the intersection before the Red because the service truck before him was also in the intersection blocking it chose to ignore his surroundings and become an asshat. (Was that judgmental of me? I chose to be judgmental just then.) I praised him for his eagerness to get his workplace twenty milliseconds faster as the rest of us became 20 minutes late while I waited to turn left through his driver-side door.

The Rule of Lines: The other line always moves faster.

  • 1st corollary: Switching lines (a choice) removes the delay in the queue you entered originally
  • 2nd corollary: Switching back (a second choice) much like Schrodinger’s cat screws it up for everyone.

Choices have consequences. Own them and learn from them.

All the time I am writing this and thinking about these I have stalled my original task I set for myself of going to the grocery store. Sometimes choices that need to be made are distasteful. Today for me that is pushing a grocery cart.

Cheryl taught me to make a list before entering the store. Mom just went to see what interested her. Her attraction to Sam’s Club was the idea that one could snack their way around the store. This idea was adopted by the Thriftway store that I would take her to when she had coerced me into doing it. I have found that Cheryl’s list method works well along side of Mom’s spontaneous want method for me.

It appears that I am fretting before doing. This attitude will keep one at home idling while the rest of the world moves on.

Carpe Diem.

Wordle and Remembrance

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Knowing They Can Fix Me

The gentleman said as a response to an unknown question in an advertisement about a medical institution. I was watching the morning newsy program(s) and thinking about the day. It is a concept that many, myself included, wish for. The hope is that a higher power, a greatness, a consciousness greater than one’s own will take care any difficulty and fix it whatever it is. Is that realistic? What about self reliance? All of this became too hard to think about, so, I awakened the New York Times Wordle game page and did it for a minute or two of distraction.

I inadvertently touched the archive button which I had paid no attention to previously. I found that it would let me go back and work on incomplete games. (down the rabbit hole I went) November of last year was when Cheryl moved to Bridgeway Pointe in the memory care section. There were a half dozen incomplete puzzles. I kept going backward in time working puzzles and thinking about what was happening in our life.

I got to my birthday in August of last year (2023). I did not finish the puzzle that day. I cannot recall anything about what went on that day. Perhaps it was merely another day filled with Parkinson. That goes without saying. The beauty of a journal or a blog is that often I have noted what happened on a certain day in the past. From my blog/journal:

—

That day I wrote about our day. Cheryl was struggling.

—

I am not surprised that I cannot remember my birthday last year. The event itself was unimportant to the task of keeping up with her Parkinson and her dementia. Perhaps one day an oncology style doctor will emerge to straddle the care complexities of PD, dementia and dying which no doctor seems to be able admit is the prognosis for this damnable combination of symptoms and inabilities. The phrase – no one dies from PD, usually you die with it – is very much a distinction without a difference. In fact it might peg the meter on my bullshit detector.

Perhaps next year I can recall what I did this year for my birthday and smile instead of cry.

Carpe Diem.

Prolific Profundity

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Monday Meditation

I thought; Just sit and observe.
Just look and see.
Just be a part of the consciousness.
Just be.

A bench by the path in a park. Birds and bugs. A chipmunk forages.
Snippets of mumbled conversation and comments of walkers and those who are walking.
A view of the lake.
A bird calls.

Autumn in mid-season.
Midday but the sun low.
A bright warm day as
its radiance diminishes.

Lichen on the Oak near.
Far, mostly green but here and there another color
as the deciduous decide the weather to come,
the darkness to come.

Quick steps now.
A duck calls to its mate.
Music. And many walkers cannot disconnect.
A child counts bounces of his basketball. A hundred ten!

I walk on.
From the other side of the pond, a different view.
An Osage is fruitful.
A tiny spider walks up my arm and wonders why I am atop its bench.

I wonder also.